One Shot
by Erinya
Summary: Short fic and drabbles inspired by BPS weekly challenges. Some stories assume noncanon pairings. Later stories Charmed Life, She Remembers and A Debt to Be Repaid contain implicit spoilers for Dead Man's Chest. 18, No Regrets, is spoiler free.
1. One Shot

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.  
**Summary**: The end of a young Captain's innocence; the beginning of a legend. Black Pearl Sails challenge fic (theme: revenge.) 250 words, rated PG. No pairing.

**One Shot**

He pleaded and cajoled and tried to appease them, with the shamelessness of desperation, but they just laughed in his face; and Bo'sun cuffed him, hard, in the back of the head. "Enough o' your lip, Sparrow."

They tossed the pistol contemptuously at his feet.

"One shot," sniggered Pintel. "_Cap'n_'s orders."

He stood silent finally, head spinning, on the beach. The boat went away slowly, avoiding the shoals. Beyond the breakers, black sails unfurled, and the _Pearl_ turned to the open sea. In his bones he felt her move, as if he were still at the helm and she under his hands, dancing together between wind and sea...

He watched her recede from him until she was a toy ship, and then a black speck among the swells, and then lost to the horizon.

She was really gone.

He sat down heavily on the sand. Picked up the pistol, stared at it bleakly; rested the barrel against his temple, a cold kiss of metal on his skin. Closed his eyes, and saw Barbossa's face.

_"One shot, lad, 'tis all you'll be needin'."_

"I thought we were mates!"

"Jack. Jack..." His first mate shook his head with mock regret. "Haven't I taught ye anything? We're pirates, lad! Though you're a right sorry excuse for one." A shark's grin. "Oh, an' thank ye kindly for them bearings, Jack. Must say I never thought ye'd give 'em up so easy..."

He lowered the pistol.

"One shot," he said softly. "Aye, that'll be enough."


	2. For Her Alone

**Disclaimer**: Anything that appears to belong to the Mouse does, in fact, belong to the Mouse.  
**Summary**: When you really come to know someone, you come to love them. A husband and wife share a quiet moment at the end of the day. James/Elizabeth. Double drabble (200 words) written for Black Pearl Sails challenge "Hair."

**For Her Alone**

He's folded his Navy jacket over the back of a chair, and shed sword-belt, pistol, and hat beside it; he stands in his shirtsleeves, frowning a little, his gaze abstracted. Elizabeth comes to him and slips her hands under the half-unbuttoned uniform shirt to run slow fingers over his skin, pausing briefly at the knotted scar on his left side where—almost a year ago, now—a privateer's bullet barely missed his heart.

At her touch her husband draws a long breath, his expression relaxing; he's looking down at her now with that faintly foolish smile, a smile that he saves for her alone, and her own heart contracts. Without the officer's wig, his dark hair is tousled damply like a boy's, the unruly forelock falling over his eyes as he bends to kiss her. She reaches up to brush it back off his face, smoothing the last worried creases from his brow, and he laughs softly against her mouth.

She never expected she'd come to love him for these things, the parts of him no one else sees.

Sometimes, like tonight, it's enough to make her forget what she's lost to the sea, to a pirate's life.  



	3. Letting Her Hair Down

**Disclaimer**: I didn't steal anything. I borrowed it. Borrowed without permission. But with every intention of giving it back.  
**Summary**: Jack's restless fingers find a new diversion.Also written for BPS "Hair" Challenge; could easily be set in the "Choices" universe. Fluffy Jack/Liz drabble.

**Letting Her Hair Down**

She cushions her head on his chest, curling against him. Long, clever fingers trail up her neck into her hair, searching out the pins and depositing them in her open palm before returning to unravel her thick braid. Parting the coiled strands, combing through them until they spread and settle in waves around her shoulders, he says "Ah!" softly as he discovers a straggler, adds it to her little collection. "Lizzie?"

She rouses reluctantly from a trance of sensation. "Hmm?"

"You make a very pretty little lad, love. But all the same, I'm rather glad you didn't cut your hair."


	4. Time to Fly

**Disclaimer**: No parrots were fricassee'ed in the making of this fic. Characters, dialogue, and situations are not the property of the author.  
**Summary**: A good omen. Scene from the movie, Jack's point of view. Canon pairings. Silly little double drabble for BPS "Cotton's Parrot" challenge.

**Time to Fly**

"So this is where your heart truly lies, then?"

_'Course it is._ They'd all seen it coming, hadn't they? Dead obvious, 'cept maybe to the whelp himself, mooning and pussyfooting about and fumbling opportune moments right and left the way he did. But the Commodore, poor blighter, he looked utterly crushed. Oh, the façade still held, but barely. _I'll be damned, he really does love the girl._ Although, when one considered the girl in question, slender and defiant with those lovely eyes all aflame, 'twas easy enough to understand--

A flash of blue and gold distracted him. Squinting up at the great fool bird flapping about on the cross-bar of the Navy standard, he missed Elizabeth's answer. He knew that bird! Been nearly shat on by it repeatedly en route to Isla De Muerta. Threatened to fricassee it nigh a dozen times to end its blasted squawking.

He'd never been so pleased to see any creature as he was now at the sight of old Cotton's macaw.

As he watched, the parrot cocked its head at him, and quite deliberately...yes, he could've sworn it _winked_ one beady eye.

"Well!" Jack Sparrow exclaimed brightly. "I'm actually feeling rather good about this..."


	5. First Light

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.  
**Summary**: Jack, his two lady-loves, and dawn on the open sea. Jack/Elizabeth/Pearl. Double drabble written for BPS "Light" challenge. Rated a very light T for oblique innuendo.

**First Light**

She is sound asleep; but he is persistent.

"What--? What is it?"

"Get up," he says, lips against her neck. "I want to show you something."

"It's not even light yet," she grumbles. "Don't you remember how late you kept me up last night?"

"Aye. But I don't remember you objectin' much."

She hits out at him, but half-heartedly, and he laughs, pulling her to her feet. "Come on."

In the soft bluish half-light on deck she hugs herself, shivering slightly, her eyes squinty with sleep. "All right, Jack Sparrow, I'm awake. What did you want to show me?"

"Patience, love," he chides, and slips an arm around her waist.

The eastern sky is paling now, almost imperceptibly; the radiance on the horizon widens, intensifies. A brisk wind scatters whitecaps across a gleaming sea.

He points aloft, says, "Look."

And there it comes, the main topgallant mast glowing suddenly, then the yardarm. The golden light throws the billowing black canvas of the _Black Pearl_'s sails into sharp relief, illuminating each rope and spar as she glides gracefully into morning.

He turns to Elizabeth, and sees the light there too, bright in her wind-combed hair and in her eyes, like freedom.


	6. Sticks and Stones

**Disclaimer**:Everything belongs to Disney, except the words. Those are mine.  
**Summary**: Everyone loves a scandal, and the Governor's daughter has obligingly provided enough material to keep Port Royal in gossip for months...BPS challenge fic, prompt "Insults."

**Sticks and Stones**

"Have you _seen_ her?"

"Haven't I! Proud as can be, strutting about as if she's the very Queen of Jamaica--"

"Young hussy, I always said her father should have taken a sterner hand with her--"

"My dear, she spent a week at sea," voice dropping dramatically, "with _pirates_!"

"That's not all, they say." Low, in tones of scandal: "_I_ heard she and that Jack Sparrow were stranded on an island for a day and a night together--" stage-whispering-- "_unchaperoned._ Imagine!"

"She came home in breeches, brazen as you please!"

"No surprise she's marrying so far beneath her. Damaged goods, you know. That young blacksmith's the only one'll have her." The speaker adds slyly, "He's a wise man, our Commodore, not to taint his reputation with such as _that_."

In the back room of the shop, William Turner makes a strangled noise, brusquely shrugging off the embarrassed tailor's attempts to finish the measurements for his new waistcoat.

"Enough," he growls. "I've heard enough."

"No, Will." Elizabeth grabs his arm, restraining him. "It's not worth it. Sticks and stones--"

"How can you say that? Weren't you listening?" But he sees the two pink spots glowing on her cheeks, and knows she heard every word. "The things they're saying about you! It's disgraceful!"

"People will talk. Of course they will." Her jaw is set, resolute. "But do you really care so, about what they think of us?"

"Don't you?"

"I do not," she says firmly. "A flock of vicious old biddies, nothing more. _This_ is all I care about," and she clasps her white hands around his work-roughened ones, raises her gaze to his. "I'd go barefoot and...and dressed in sackcloth to our wedding, dear Will, before I'd let their nonsense sour my happiness today, or any day." Then she grins, pure mischief sparkling in her eyes. "But if it'll please you," she adds on an undertone, "come on!"

And she sweeps grandly through the door into the front room of the shop, drawing him in her wake.

"Good afternoon, ladies," she says sweetly, to their unified horror. "I trust you are all well?" When they stutter out their answers, she continues, "I hope to see you all on Saturday for the wedding. I believe Father has arranged a rather lavish party." She leans in confidentially. "I shall even be wearing a dress! A _white _dress...Can you _imagine_?"

With that, she turns and glides out of the shop, her head held high, a look of almost unholy satisfaction on her lovely face, leaving behind her a stunned silence and a sense of profound dismay.


	7. Blaze of Glory

**Warning**: Character death. Please don't hate me. This story caught hold and wouldn't let me go.  
**Disclaimer**: I have no right to do this. I am well aware.  
**Summary**: "It wouldn't be right, for her to go on without him." The _Black Pearl_'s last voyage. Written for BPS challenge "Fire." Jack/Pearl, Jack/Ana friendship. PG, 350 words.

**Blaze of Glory**

Once, late at night when they were on watch together, he had told her a story of the funeral-ships of ancient sea-warriors; and she remembered it when the crew came to her and asked what they should do.

He seemed smaller, somehow, but the stillness in his face lent it a surprising gravity. Almost, she thought, nobility. The long, lively fingers did not dance; the kohl-lined eyes were closed.

Anamaria had done the kohl herself. His face looked wrong without it.

Gibbs' hand fell on her shoulder. "It's time, lass."

She nodded, turning away from the slight, still form resting on the bier.

"Ye sure ye want to do this, then?"

"Aye," she said. "It wouldn't be right, for her to go on without him."

The crew had gathered in a solemn little knot on the beach. Ana stood somewhat apart from them, waiting. Off the spit the _Black Pearl_ waited too, drifting gently in the current. The tide was going out. Ana counted silently to herself: three. Two. One.

And just when she thought she'd mucked it up, that she'd have to row back out and reset the fuse, orange flame blazed up along the deck.

She let out her breath, part sigh of relief, part sob.

"He died a good death," said Gibbs, beside her, as the fire rose across the water, the black sails catching now, brilliant in the twilight.

"He lived a good life," Ana answered.

There was a great deal more they could have said, but they said nothing more. The burning ship slipped slowly away from them with the tide, as if her Captain yet urged her on to the horizon.

When Ana stirred at last, she was alone, and night had fallen.

"Goodbye, Jack," she said to the sea and to the stars. "Fair wind and weather to ye, friend, wherever you might sail."

And then she stopped, listening. For, from somewhere nearby, she'd heard the merry trill of a songbird that must have been very late to fly to roost.

A sparrow, singing joyously of the freedom of wind and wing.


	8. Geas

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.  
**Summary**: "That bit of shine matters to us--why?" A glimpse into the world of the cursed. Another short fic for BPS challenge "Treasure," just shy of 350 words.

**Note: **A geäs or geäsa, in Celtic mythology, is a bond or vow that must be fulfilled. Or, as in this case, a curse.

**Geäs**

The gold called to them.

That day and into the evening the call had buffeted them with the wind of an unholy storm. It filled the Pearl's black sails and pulled at her timbers until she creaked and moaned and whispered, but whether she cried out in torment or in joy none of them could say. Neither could they say how they felt under the geäs that drew them, for it tore at them, and yet they treasured it; it was all they felt now, all they had felt for many years. This lust. This greed. This hunger...

It was in their blood; nay, it went deeper than blood, deep into their bones, to the very marrow.

All else was shadows. They saw clearly only under the cruel moon, had long forgotten the brilliance of sunlight on the water, all scents but rot, all flavors besides dust. And the sensation always on their palms was the crawling, ravenous touch of the gold.

None of the cursed pretended to sleep, anymore, for the call wound always through their dreams, and stole away their rest with sly promises of life withheld. Pintel had dreamed thus, the night they weighed anchor from Isle de Muerta ten long years ago, as the raucous sounds of celebration filtered down from the Pearl's deck. In his dream, he'd held one of the pieces in his hand and watched it soften, and melt, and sink into his skin like poison into sand. He'd woken to the panicked screams and shouts of the crew, as moonlight crept down the hatchway and laid cold fingers on his soul.

Now they perceived the lass but dimly, a shade among shades. But the gold at her breast, aye, that they saw, a great beacon pulsing slightly like a beating heart, another thing she had that they did not.

The last piece, it was, and they all knew it; the only bright thing in their world, and a treasure more than silver, gold or jewels.

It meant freedom, and their darkness finally ended.


	9. To Freedom

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.  
**Summary**: "A wedding? I love weddings! Drinks all around!" A familiar premise, but hopefully not too dull. Written for BPS Challenge "Drinks."

**To Freedom**

The forge-fire has burnt low in his absence and the smithy is full of shadows; one of which clears its throat loudly as he turns to latch the door.

He whirls, sword in hand. "_Who's there?_"

"Well, there's no call to try and skewer me like that," says the shadow, sulkily. "I rather thought you'd be pleased to see me."

"_Jack_? Is that you?"

"Who else?"

Who else indeed. "What are you doing here?"

"Why, I'm here for the wedding, o' course! Wouldn't miss it for the world, you know--"

"Are you mad? You could be hanged!"

"I won't be, though," says Jack cheerfully. "Last time was an anon...anomo...well, it won't happen again, anyway. After all, I _am_ Captain Jack Sparrow." He claps Will on the back. "So! You'll be tying the knot in the morning, will you? How are you holdin' up?"

"Me?" Will frowns, surprised. "Tomorrow I'll be married to the woman I love. I'm fine. I'm better than fine. I'm--I feel _wonderful_--"

Jack shakes his head, setting beads and trinkets swinging. "'S not what your face said when you trudged through that door, my friend."

"There's nothing wrong with me." Will busies himself with stoking the fire, feeling Jack watching him keenly. Then he remembers how queasy he's been all day, and allows, "Well, I suppose I am a bit nervous..."

"Course you are! An' I don't blame you. Perfectly natural sentiment." Will first saw that brilliant, devilish grin on the deck of the _Dauntless_, some time ago; it glitters in the light of the reawakened flames, and bodes no good whatsoever. "Lucky I got here when I did. I know just what ye need."

"A good night's rest?" suggests Will, hopefully.

"No, no!" Jack flails, horrified. "That won't do at all." He throws an arm round Will's shoulders. "What you need, lad, is rum. And lots of it. What say you to the Cat and Fiddle, eh? Delightfully friendly ladies there, and all lasses love a bridegroom--"

It is Will's turn to be horrified. "Jack!"

"C'mon. We'll drink to your last night of freedom, mate. You'll feel much better for it, I promise you."

"But I couldn't possibly--"

Jack is already steering him out the door. "Now, now, I'll have none of that nonsense. You surely can, an' I'll see to it that you have a good time doing it--savvy?"


	10. Ankles Aweigh

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, yada yada yada.  
**Summary**: "I am trying not to look at her ankles." Norrington first-person POV during Elizabeth's rescue from the island, N/E-ish. Drabble times three, written for BPS Challenge "Extremities" and somewhat inspired by my very favorite PotC outtake.

**Ankles Aweigh**

She has soot on her nose and fire in her eyes as she climbs out of the boat onto the deck of the _Dauntless_, shaking off her father's attempt to assist her. "James!"

"I am very glad to see you safe," I say; and it would not be proper to say just how glad. Then I see the braided and bedraggled creature stepping delicately from the skiff behind her. "Jack Sparrow again--! _He_ was with you?"

The rogue leaves off casting affronted looks at Murtogg and Mullroy--who possess sufficient sense to seize and hold him fast--long enough to wave at me cheekily.

I train my most threatening glare upon him. "If you have so much as _touched_ the lady--"

"I'm all right, James," snaps the lady in question. "My virtue is quite unbesmirched. May I ask why we are sailing in the wrong direction?"

"I beg your pardon?" I am trying not to look at her lovely ankles, brazenly displayed as they are; for thoughts of ankles lead to thoughts of calves, and thereby to knees, and from there—-well, by such thoughts a gentleman would be lost indeed. "Perhaps you'd best leave the navigation to us," I hear myself say. "Our bearing is north-north-east, Elizabeth, towards Jamaica."

She certainly doesn't _look_ unbesmirched, she in her slip again, salt-stained and sandy-hemmed. It's the second time that villain Sparrow has returned her half-naked and barefoot, hair unfastened in a wild tangle around her white shoulders, giving much more the impression of a dunked milkmaid then of a well-born Governor's daughter...

Somehow, the look suits her. Flashing eyes, fierce roses on her cheeks, and all---

Oh.

"But we've got to save Will!"

_Damn and blast._

I might have seen that coming, were it not for those brazen ankles.


	11. A Man Like That

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**Summary**: A woman should never believe a man like Jack...no matter how much she wants to. A proper double-drabble for BPS challenge "Believe."

**A Man Like That**

"I don't believe it."

She stared down at the small waves lapping against the empty pier. Closed her eyes briefly, shook herself. Opened them, and looked again; but the pier was still empty.

Her fists clenched, convulsively, by her sides. A leather-faced old fisherman casting his line nearby abandoned a tuneless whistle to look round at her vicious stream of invective, then looked hastily away.

"You bloody little fool. Oughta know better than to trust a rogue like _that_..."

But what female wouldn't believe such a man, with that silver tongue and that golden smile and those dark, bewitching eyes? You couldn't help but want the lies, even as you recognized the truth, the danger there. The _Jolly Mon_ had taken to him, that was plain to see; taken him clear out of Tortuga harbor towards destinations unknown, and the little skiff wasn't the most biddable of ladies by a long stretch. You had to know the trick to her, gentle her just right, or she'd leave you adrift if not in the drink, likely enough.

"I'll put those thrice-damned eyes right out for you, Jack Sparrow," Anamaria growled. "As the sea is my witness. You see if I don't..."


	12. Memory's Tide

**Disclaimer: **They don't belong to me. I try to treat them well.

**Summary: **An old woman sits in the sun, remembering a life that is the stuff of legends. For BPS challenge "Drift." Canon pairings.

**Warning:** Multiple character death mentioned. Nothing graphic.

**Memory's Tide**

She's drifting again; she knows she is. But with the warmth of the morning sun soaking into her bones, it's so easy to slip sideways on the current of time, to believe herself a girl again. Chafing at corsets, sassing her father, teasing James Norrington until his reserve breaks and he snorts with laughter. Falling for a blacksmith who dreamed of being her hero. Fighting supernatural pirates beside her one true love, her heart in her mouth, a fierce joy in her heart.

One day soon, she decides, she'll go just like this, let herself keep drifting. Her children are long grown, and her baby girl Lottie--a fine woman now, with babies of her own--won't accept her help around the house anymore, not realizing how much her mother hates being useless. James passed away a decade ago, a much-decorated admiral, a very dear friend for many years. Her Will already awaits her in their humble churchyard plot. And Jack, Captain Jack Sparrow--well, if the legends hold any truth at all, he died as he had lived: the sea took him and his beloved Pearl, together to the end. They say he laughed as he went down; Elizabeth believes them.

Of course, other legends say otherwise: they tell of the Immortal Captain Jack, who filched one coin from a forbidden hoard, cursed by choice to sail the ocean for all eternity. But she knows better; Jack would never renounce the sweet taste of life, so long as it tastes of rum. She is the last of them, the last secret-keeper of the island that can only be found by those who have been there before.

To her grandchildren, her truths are only stories. But to her, the present has become dim and slow and distant, blurring together like a dream, while the past glows with vivid detail in her mind's eye. Will's shy smile; small Jack's first words; a foolish ditty sung around a bonfire under a wide sky thick with stars.

She smiles a little, shifts stiffly in her rocking chair, and gives in to memory's tide.


	13. Siren

**Disclaimer:** They'll never be mine.

**Summary: **Captain James Norrington returns from a long Naval tour of duty, and finds himself facing a different kind of peril. Pre-movie fic. For BPS challenge "Enchant": 350 words. PG, James/Liz.

**Siren**

"Captain Norrington!"

He turned to find a young lady advancing upon him, holding out her hands, her eyes sparkling.

"Captain, you're just in time!" She tucked her arm in his, and stood on tiptoe to say in his ear, "You must save me, James. That young Mr. Churchill keeps trying to catch my eye, and I think he means to come and speak to me. He's so dreadfully dull, and he aspires to such wit. See, here he is--quickly, ask me to dance."

Faced with such a startling request, what could he do but comply? Norrington bowed over her small white glove, the polite gesture concealing a frantic search of his memory. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance, Miss--"

Her lovely face fell somewhat as he led her to the floor. "Do you not remember me?"

"I'm truly sorry."

"It's Elizabeth," she said. "Elizabeth Swann. Now, say you have not forgotten me... James."

It was all he could do not to stop short, mid-turn, to stare at her. As it was, he stumbled slightly. She tilted her chestnut head as if assessing his reaction, proving herself a skillful partner by smoothly covering for his misstep.

Was _this_ truly the Governor's daughter? The befreckled, cat-curious imp who'd made that long Atlantic crossing seem twice as long as it had any right to be, six years ago? _This_ elegant, fine-featured, milky-skinned girl was surely no relation to the impudent monkey he had constantly found himself plucking out of the rigging and returning, against her shrill protests, to her hapless gentleman father.

Elizabeth Swann _waltzed_?

But those eyes, dancing with mischief... yes, those were the same. In the time he'd been at sea, guiding his _Dauntless_ through her maiden tour, Miss Swann had grown up. And now, his hand at her slim waist and those enchanting eyes holding his, laughing at his consternation, he knew she had gotten the best of him once again, just as she used to do so easily as a little girl.

She had bewitched him, and he was well and truly lost.


	14. Deep Blue Sea

**Disclaimer**: Nope, still not mine. Quit asking.  
**Summary**: Elizabeth takes stock of a bad situation. Riffing off a deleted scene that I love more and more with each viewing. PG, 100 words, not counting title, for BPS "Blue" challenge. Jack/Liz if you squint _really_ hard.

**Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea**

_Item:_ One island, small.

_Item:_ Several anemic palm trees, huddled together as if for comfort.

_Item:_ Large quantity of fine white sand.

_Item:_ Self. Salt-stained, sans dress, shoes, and dignity.

_Item:_ One pirate, with pistol and unsettling dark eyes. Thoroughly amoral. Currently cleaning said weapon and casting sardonic looks at her from said eyes.

"S'really not all that big, is it?"

_Item:_ One ship, vanishing swiftly below the horizon.

_Item:_ The Caribbean Sea. Wide, trackless, deep, and very blue.

"If you're going to shoot me," Elizabeth says, turning to her kohl-smeared, bedraggled, and bedeviling companion, "please do so without delay."


	15. Charmed Life

**Disclaimer:** I just play here. Call off the lawyers.

**Summary:** Jack-fic, a bit dark. Jack contemplates his mortality. Pre-Dead Man's Chest, very minor spoilers (mostly for the trailer.) For BPS drabble challenge "Delay"; 300 words, K+.

**Charmed Life**

The legends said Jack Sparrow lived a charmed life, always one quick step, one clever trick, one stroke of luck ahead of Fate. They said he could talk his way out of a deal with the Devil.

But he knew better. He'd tried it.

The mark of that lesson was still in him. He felt it sometimes, in his dreams: a black seed beneath his skin, waiting to flower, to stretch its dark roots deep into his soul. His life was a game now; he was all in, with the deck stacked and the die loaded. 'Twasn't a question of winning, but of how long it would be 'til his luck ran out. How long he could delay the inevitable.

_Can't cheat the Devil, Jack._

Bootstrap had said that, a long time ago.

Couldn't say no one had warned him, could he.

It had been tempting, all too tempting, back there at Isla de Muerta, to trade a life-debt for a half-life. Did one curse cancel out another? If he couldn't die, could his doom still claim him? The whole Jolly Roger look had suited him, really. He had the bone structure for it, after all.

Another gamble, that. A chance at immortality flavored with ashes, or a quick life before the wind, with death's shadow in his wake, following after.

The choice had been easy enough, in the end.

Because the game wasn't over yet; there were still prizes to plunder, wenches to kiss and rum to drink. There was still the _Black Pearl_, his dark lady, whole and his again at last, for he'd won that round, fair and square.

There was always the possibility, remote as it was, that the Devil might just slip up.

And storm on the rise or no, there was always that horizon.


	16. She Remembers

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. They speak. I listen.  
**Summary**: "If ever a ship had a soul, it was her." Triple drabble for "Odd Occurrences" challenge at BPS. Partly inspired by a conversation withHonorat about Ana's rocky relationship/rivalry with the _Pearl_. Vague intimation of possible character death. PG-13, Jack/Pearl.

**She Remembers**

Why you asking after trouble, mate? No use, anyway. The _Black Pearl_'s gone. Haven't you heard the stories?

Aye, I sailed with her awhile. An odd ship, that one, with an odd captain.

Jack Sparrow. A no-good, silver-tongued devil he was, too. _Pirate_. First time we met, he stole my boat. But that vessel of his, he treated _her_ like a lady. Only the best for his _Pearl_. Spoke to her like she were a live thing, and damned if she didn't act like it. Queer things happened on that ship, curse or no curse. No telling if 'twas some magic left over from that voodoo gold or if it were built into her own black bones.

'Twas bloody uncanny, whatever it was. At first, afore we got her Captain back, she'd _moan_. My oath. When the wind twanged through the ratlines, you'd swear 'twas a woman weeping and carryin' on. Why d'you think I made that lot go back for him? _She_ made sure I wouldn't sleep 'til I did.

Even then, she weren't quiet. Only she sang instead of wept, when he stood at the helm. An' there were other things. Voices where no voices should be, stains on the boards wouldn't come out. An' moonlit nights I kept catchin' sight of a young tar wasn't there at all. Spittin' image of that young whelp Will Turner, 'cept more piratical-looking an' less wet behind the ears. Had a real polite smile, for a dead man, he did.

I asked Jack about it. Know what he said to me, all solemn-like? "Aye, she remembers." And as much as he meant it, I believed it.

If ever a ship had a soul, it was her. And I ain't sure that her soul and Jack Sparrow's weren't one and the same.


	17. A Debt to Be Repaid

**Disclaimer**: The Mouse owns them. The Muse owns me.  
**Warning**: Obliquely spoilerific. Angst and implied character death.  
**Summary**: Pre-DMC fic; a parting of the ways. 400 words, companion-fic to She Remembers. Jack/_Pearl_, hints of Jack/Ana; PG-13

**A Debt To Be Repaid**

He knew--he _knew_.

Didn't tell no one outright, of course. But anyone could see he weren't easy in his mind, the way he paced the _Black Pearl_'s deck, and ran his hands over her timbers, and whispered to her.

One day we took a prize: the _Sandpiper_ was her name, a pretty little sloop, graceful as you please and suitable for handling by one skilled sailor or a small crew. Jack came to me as I stood on her deck admiring the neat trim of her courses.

"She's yours, if you want her," he said, and I stared.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I owe you a ship."

Which was so, but hardly an explanation. And the fathom-deep darkness in his seaward gaze brought a dreadful suspicion to my mind.

"Jack Sparrow," I said, "what's in that daft head of yours? Why you payin' off your debts so sudden?"

"There's a storm coming, Ana," he said, in tones so grave I turned to glance at the horizon; but it was clear and blue as ever, and I knew at once that weren't the sort of storm he meant. "And it's not yours to weather, love."

"I don't understand," said I, but of course I did, not all but enough at least; and I shivered, from the look he gave me and the chill of foreboding in my blood. "You want me off the _Pearl_, Captain?"

"A hand like you? 'Tis the last thing I want. All the same, I think 'twould be best, savvy? After all--" he spoke lightly now, though shadows still lurked in the dark pools of his eyes, and his smile didn't reach them-- "there ought to be someone left to come after me, if the worst should happen, eh?"

"An' what makes you think I would?" I countered, but we both knew the truth of it, and he smiled more real this time; it almost warmed me through.

He put that choice to all the _Pearls_, though mayhaps on different terms. In the end only a few men crewed with me on the _Sandpiper_. And at last I stood at the helm of the little sloop and watched the _Pearl_ shrink to a dark smudge and vanish over the edge of the world.

I think I knew myself, then, what was to come.

Blasted fool never gave me a chance to make good on my word.


	18. No Regrets

**Disclaimer**: eyes the Mouse sternly Here's hoping Disney will do well by them come July.  
**Summary**: In the aftermath of CotBP, Elizabeth and Will discuss what might have been, and worse, what might not have been at all. For the "Wish" challenge at Black Pearl Sails, 500 words. I've done a variation on this theme before, in Sticks and Stones, so hopefully I'm not repeating myself too badly. K, Will/Liz.

**No Regrets**

Elizabeth--already a minor celebrity in the town and surrounding countryside as the Governor's lovely and eligible daughter--was ruined, of course, in the eyes of Port Royal's privileged society folk and working people alike; a cautionary tale and an object of pity, at best, but more often the object of vulgar curiosity or ridicule, and Will could not decide which was worse. The way they spoke of her! As if she had chosen to be kidnapped by pirates and marooned on that island with Jack; as if she was lucky to be engaged at all, even to a blacksmith. Will, who knew painfully well just how lucky _he_ was to have won her, would have made and kept many a dawn appointment on his beloved's behalf, had his beloved not begged him, almost tearfully, to do no such thing.

"It only makes it worse," she said. "We must not mind them--it is to be expected--Will, I _won't_ have it. What if you should lose, and leave me to bury you for the sake of nothing but foolishness and gossip?"

"I wouldn't lose," he answered, with a grin, and dropped a kiss on her hand.

But she was not mollified. "Promise me, Will. No dueling. Not on my account. Please..."

He could not oppose her, not when she grasped his work-roughened hands between her smooth white ones, when she gazed up at him and said his name that way. "All right," he said, and did not remind her that the foolishness at stake was his honor as well as her own. "Don't you care what they say?"

"No, indeed," she retorted, with a toss of her glossy head. "They can say whatever they like." But she bit her lip, and he remembered how she had flushed earlier that day when a bevy of officer's wives had cut her in the street, and how he had sometimes, on visits to the Governor's manse, found her eyes red-rimmed and her smile upon seeing him over-brilliant.

"I imagine you must wish now that you'd never stolen that medallion off me," Will said softly.

"The wages of sin," said Elizabeth, with a laugh and a sigh, but then she shook her head. "No, dear Will. I have often thought of it, but never wished it. For if I hadn't taken that 'bit of shine' from your neck, if I hadn't been spirited away by cursed pirates and called myself Liz Turner, I would be promised to James Norrington today."

Will flushed in his turn. "I would have spoken. I would have--"

"Would you have?" She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and he fell silent. "It's all right, Will. I know. But what I do not know is how I might have answered." And when he stared at her, she said, quietly and fiercely, "I regret nothing of what has passed. But I _would_ have, if none of it had come to pass at all..."


End file.
